


Wishes Fulfilled

by tryslora



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: hd_seasons, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-02
Updated: 2012-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-28 17:10:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/310141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While out doing last minute Christmas shopping, Harry finds Draco stumbling along. Instead of going to the Burrows as planned for Christmas Even, Harry takes Draco home to take care of him, and ends up getting things he never knew he even wished for, for the holiday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wishes Fulfilled

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for lullabylily for her stocking at hd_seasons on Livejournal.
> 
> JKR owns these boys, I just like to play with them!

Harry tucked his hands into his pockets and hunched his shoulders against the wind. Even in his hat and scarf, thick gloves on his hand and his collar turned up, he couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that the wind was blowing right through him. He’d planned to try a warming charm, but then he remembered that this last thing he needed for Hermione was in Muggle London. And as circumspect as charms could be, he’d look odd if he weren’t freezing as badly as every other harried shopper on the street right now. So instead he was miserable in the biting chill as he braved the throngs of shoppers who had all apparently forgotten something on the night before Christmas.

The shops were starting to close, and Harry was running late. He blamed it on work, and on the case that had exploded from cold into something urgent just a few days ago. It had taken up all of his free time that week, irritating Ginny when he missed two dates with her, and frustrating plans with Ron and Hermione. But he forced his way into the small perfume shop he knew Hermione loved and dealt with the snark of the girl behind the counter as she wrapped his gift in those last moments before closing.

When he emerged, the door being locked tight behind him, he realized the streets were nearly empty now. A bell tolled in the distance, and he thought that likely folks were home for dinner with the family on Christmas Eve. In fact, he was supposed to be joining Ginny at the Burrows. He liked the thought of going to the Burrows, the Weasleys still being something like his family. But he knew what Ginny expected for Christmas, and he knew just as well that he wasn’t going to give it to her. Oh, he’d considered it, but as he trudged along, bent against the wind, he went over it again in his mind. It wasn’t that the thought left him cold, it was the coil of panic in his gut at the idea of it. After five years together, he shouldn’t panic anymore. After five years together, this ought to be the thing he looked forward to most.

And yet, it wasn’t.

He slipped down a side street, aiming for the Wizarding bit of London where his flat was (he’d never quite been able to stomach living in the house on Grimmaud Place again). Ahead of him he spotted someone weaving across the sidewalk, stumbling on the snow-beaten ground, then tripping over his own feet, falling hard to one knee. And not getting up.

Harry tried not to think of rescuing some poor drunk sod as the perfect excuse to avoid a family argument, but in all honesty, it was.

He knelt down next to the bloke, offering him a hand back up to his feet. “You alright, mate?” He expected to see recognition, perhaps that widening of the eyes that still came when Harry spoke to people, like a statue of their hero had just come to life.

He didn’t expect the man to recoil, falling backwards onto his arse in the slush and snow, staring up at him as if he might bite. “Malfoy?” Harry asked, frowning at the look of him. Too thin, and dirty, his hair limp as if it hadn’t been washed or combed in days. His hands were red from the cold, his face white with two spots of red on his cheeks. “Bloody hell, Malfoy, you look like hell.”

“Thank you, Potter,” Malfoy said dryly, the slur of his words carefully controlled. “You look quite lovely, too. Now if you don’t mind, I’ll just be going.”

Harry sat back on his heels, watching as Malfoy stumbled to his feet, and wove after a few steps. Harry caught him, one arm under Malfoy’s shoulder, hand across his back to steady him.

“I don’t think you’re going anywhere. You smell like you’ve got the whole pub on you.”

Malfoy straightened, distancing himself from Harry as much as he seemed to dare, although Harry felt the weight of him still leaning on him. “Someone might have spilled a pint on me,” he said calmly. “When I told him my arse was not for sale.”

Harry blinked. “What?”

“My arse,” Malfoy clarified. “Not for sale. My mouth, yes. Arse, no.”

Harry had no idea what to say in the face of that. “You’re drunk,” he decided. “Let’s get you off the street and safe somewhere, and cleaned up.” He could figure out what to do with him after that.

Malfoy shoved at him, and they both stepped back, Malfoy landing back on that very arse on the sidewalk while Harry skidded and managed to keep his footing. “I’m not drunk,” Malfoy said firmly. “Hungry, yes. Did you know that when you neglect to eat more than once in a day the world begins to spin?” He paused, and considered. “The pint might have helped with that.”

It didn’t matter anymore that they were still, just barely, in Muggle London. Harry wrapped an arm around Malfoy and held on tight when the other man would’ve pushed at him again. He gripped him firmly as they spun, and arrived on the landing outside of Harry’s flat. “You’re coming in,” he said. “And you’re going to eat and take a shower. You can leave after that.”

“That’s Potter,” Draco pushed away from him again, stumbling over the threshhold and into the flat. “The Boy Who Saved the World. The Boy Who Can’t Stop Saving Me. Well, fuck you, Potter.” He turned, jabbing finger into Harry’s chest. “Fuck you. I don’t need to be saved.”

Harry smiled wryly. “You could have fooled me. Go in there.” He gripped Malfoy’s shoulders and turned him towards his room. “Strip down and leave that stuff to be cleaned. I’ll loan you something after you’ve showered.”

Malfoy’s jaw tightened. “You just want to see me naked.”

Naked? Harry swallowed as that image caught at him. “That wasn’t what I was thinking at all, Malfoy. I was thinking that you stink, and the bathroom’s connected to my bedroom. Just—go.”

He turned away, ignoring Malfoy as the door to his room closed. There was an envelope sitting on the kitchen table, and Harry glanced at it, seeing his name in Ginny’s hasty scrawl. Right, that couldn’t be good news. He ignored that as well, putting around it to get some soup on the stove, water heating for tea, and some wine on the counter open and breathing. Maybe the wine wasn’t such a great idea, but right about now, Harry could use a glass of it himself.

He waited until he heard the shower running before he turned his attention back to the envelope and slipped out the note inside.

 _Harry,_

I stopped by to see if you were ready to go, and you weren’t here. Mum and Dad are expecting us.

I can’t keep doing this, Harry. Your job is more important to you than I am. Lately I think everything is more important to you than I am. I’ve loved you since I was a little girl, but lately, I don’t really like you very much. And I’m not even sure you love me. You haven’t said it in months, and you keep missing our dates.

They say that the third time is the charm, Harry. We were supposed to have dinner on Tuesday, and the movie on Thursday. If you miss tonight, that’s it.

We’re done.

Please think about it very carefully, Harry.

I love you,

Ginny

Harry thought about it, but it didn’t take long. He turned the note over, and wrote carefully on the back.

 _Ginny,_

I think I still love you, but not the way you want me to. It’s best I miss Christmas Eve at the Burrows this year.

And you’re right, it’s best that we break it off.

I’m sorry.

Harry

He gave the note to his owl and sent it on its way. Strangely, it was a relief to have said that, even if it was on paper and he knew it would have to be done over again in person. He sipped at his glass of wine, relaxing slowly in the aftermath, and wondering if it ought to hurt more to give up on a relationship that had lasted so long.

In the background, he heard the shower shut off. He set his glass down on the counter, and went into his room. Spotting the pile of clothes, he kicked them to one side, knowing Kreacher would find them eventually and take care of them. Harry pulled a pair of trackies from his closet, thinking the drawstring would serve to keep them up on Mafoy’s narrow hips, and added a Puddlemere t-shirt to the stack before he knocked sharply on the door to the bathroom.

When there was no sound beyond, he nudged the door open.

Draco stood in the steam-filled room, body still dripping wet as he toweled his hair dry. His back stiffened at the sound of the door, and he stood straight, slowly dropping the towel to wrap it around his waist. One eyebrow rose. “Get a good look, Potter?”

Oh yes. Too good, really, and Harry didn’t quite know what to do with the reaction he was having to the sight. Malfoy was tall and lean, thin but not scrawny. The Dark Mark had faded on his forearm, but the scars on his chest—scars Harry had given him—were still thick and silvery and all too obvious to Harry’s eye. Harry swallowed hard and tried to think of anything else as he willed his body to relax. “I told you,” he said, and he didn’t believe it himself anymore, “I don’t want to see you naked.”

Malfoy snorted.

Harry set the clothes down in a dry spot. “Here. Get dressed and come out. I’ve put something on for you to eat. You look like you’re feeling better.”

For a moment he didn’t think Malfoy would answer him. Instead, Malfoy let his towel drop as he picked up the trackies and pulled them on without bothering to put anything on beneath. He fiddled with the drawstring for a bit, until the trousers hung low on his hips. “Somewhat,” Malfoy finally said. “I’ll be clearer headed when I’ve had something to eat.”

“How long has it been?” Harry had to ask.

And Malfoy had to think about that, staring a point somewhere over the steamed up mirror. “Last night,” he decided. “Fish and chips after I gave a bloke a blow job in an alley. He threw in a pint because I swallowed.”

Harry stared. “You’re joking.”

“No,” Malfoy said flatly. “I’m not.”

“And before that?” Harry shouldn’t be prodding at him like this, but he had to know.

“Breakfast that morning, after I woke a bloke up with my mouth,” Malfoy said, words dropping like little bombs between them. “He’d fed me steak the night before because I let him put lipstick on my mouth before I took him, and because I was willing to lick his balls.”

“Why?” Harry couldn’t help blurting out the question. “Why the hell are you saying this?”

“Because it’s true.” Malfoy pushed past Harry, walking into the bedroom and stopping there, not sure where else to go. “I didn’t have money, and I wanted to eat. It’s not like I’d never blown a man before.”

And there was another image Harry didn’t need to have: Malfoy on his knees, pale hair tickling Harry’s stomach as his head bobbed up and down. Harry bit back a groan and fisted his hands by his sides, feeling the press of his nails against his palms. “Why?”

There was a long moment’s silence, Malfoy staring at him, expression closed-off and even. “Why am I giving away blow jobs for my supper?” he asked finally. “Or do you want to know why I have experience at the act itself?”

Both. Neither. This was far more about Malfoy than Harry had ever wanted to know, but now that the conversation had started he couldn’t seem to stop himself from saying just the thing he didn’t want to say out loud. “Both.”

Malfoy smiled tightly. “I like men, Potter. In fact, the best part of being completely in disgrace is that I could finally tell my parents that there was nothing they could do to convince me to marry anyone, and that in fact, Astoria Greengrass was relieved to discover that I had no interest in her. However, the worst part of that tidbit coming out is that my parents have disowned me.”

“Malfoy—”

The man in question cut him off with a sharp jab of his hand. “Technically, no. But given that I don’t want you to call me by my given name, I suppose it will have to do for now. But I do believe I have little right to it anymore.”

Harry shoved his hand through his hair, making it stand up, then let his hand slide over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to go get the bread out, and set out soup. And you’re going to eat dinner. No blow job required.”

“Are you quite certain?” One pale eyebrow arched as Malfoy regarded him with clear grey eyes. “You seemed quite fascinated to find me after my shower. I could take care of that problem for you.”

That _problem_ , as Malfoy referred to it, was hard and aching and making his trousers uncomfortable and making it hard to think. But it was also something Harry could bloody well take care of on his own. He couldn’t imagine letting Malfoy—no, actually, that was the problem. He _could_ imagine Malfoy taking care of it. All too well. Harry swallowed hard. “Not needed, Malfoy,” he said slowly.

“Because you have the little Weasel to take care of it,” Malfoy drawled. “Right.”

Harry didn’t even dignify that with a response as he walked out of the room.

In the kitchen he laid out bowls and small plates for the bread. He pulled the sweet cream butter out of the fridge and used a small charm to make it the perfect temperature for spreading. Then he poured himself more wine, and against his better judgement, poured a glass for Malfoy as well.

Malfoy walked in, staring at something in his hand. “It seems congratulations are in order, Potter.”

Harry looked up quickly, and realized that Malfoy was holding the small black box that had been stuffed way in the back of his dresser drawer. He blinked several times, and reached out for it, making a small noise when Malfoy snatched his hand back.

“You’ve gotten slow, Potter,” Malfoy drawled, opening the box to look inside. “If that were the Snitch, you’d have lost the match. Now isn’t this interesting?” He picked the ring up, pinched between two fingers and looked at it closely. “Not your traditional engagement ring. In fact, if I didn’t know better, I’d say it’s a bloke’s ring. But then, your Weasel was never exactly a traditional sort of girl.”

It was a man’s ring, but Harry wasn’t going to admit that. Yes, it was for Ginny, but she’d said many times she didn’t want one of those diamonds jutting out from her finger, getting in the way. So Harry had gone for a thick band that was sized for her smaller finger, studded with smaller diamonds all around. “Look, you shouldn’t have been snooping,” he said, snatching for it again, coming in closer to Malfoy as he missed, again.

“You shouldn’t have left it sitting on your dresser,” Malfoy countered. “It’s not nearly as small as I expected. Does your Weasel have man-hands, Potter? Perhaps that’s what attracts you to her. Is she mannish? It seems you rather liked the male figure.” His gaze dropped to Harry’s crotch, then rose again, a smirk tilting his lips at the evidence that Harry had liked it, and hadn’t quite gotten it back under control.

“I wonder if it would fit?” Malfoy mused.

Harry felt his heart drop. He snatched for the ring again, but he was too late as it settled onto Malfoy’s ring finger as if it were made to be there. “Fuck,” Harry whispered.

“Hm?” Malfoy glanced at him. “Problem, Potter?” He looked back at the ring, smiling slightly as it shone in the light. “I hate to say it, but you have good taste.”

“Take it off.” The words almost caught in Harry’s throat, but then, he knew just how much trouble they both were in at this moment. “Just—take it off.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Fine. I wasn’t planning on stealing it. I suspect the stones are mere glass.”

“They aren’t.”

Harry watched as Malfoy twisted the ring and tried to get slip it off his finger. He watched agitation grow, watched as Malfoy measured the ring against his knuckle and tried again and again. And the ring stayed stubbornly put.

With a wince, Harry pinched the bridge of his nose again. “Congratulations, Malfoy. We’re engaged. Under the circumstances, we might want to start calling each other by our first names.”

Which Harry made a conscious effort to do, in his own head, as _Draco_ tried again to remove the ring. “It won’t work,” he told Draco. “It’s a promise ring, and it has a mate. Both of which were in my bureau until you decided to go snooping about.”

Draco gritted his teeth, yanking at the ring. “I’ve already told you Potter—”

“Harry.”

“Fine. _Harry_ ,” Draco snapped. “It wasn’t anywhere but on the top of said bureau. Right there, sitting out as if you wanted it to be seen. Where did you get this thing? Insidious magic. Were you afraid your Weasel would try to take her ring off and lie about being taken?”

“No, I thought it sounded like a romantic gift,” Harry protested, but he could see Draco’s point now that it was said. “The two rings are a set, and the magic is old. Something about a promise made and a promise earned, and knowing their mates. I was going to put mine on tonight before I went to the Burrows.” Back before he’d broken things off. By a letter.

“Never dabble in magic you don’t know.” Draco glared at him. “They are quite possibly Dark Magic.”

“They’re not.” Harry pushed past him, going into his room to dig out the other. He was surprised at how neat the drawer still seemed, as if Draco hadn’t been pawing through his things not all that long ago. He opened the second box and slipped out the ring, putting it on his own finger. “See? Nothing bad happened.”

Draco, on the other hand, was staring at him. “May I see the box?” When Harry placed it in his hand, he carefully lifted up the place where the ring had rested, exposing a small piece of parchment tucked inside. Draco unfolded it carefully, read it, then handed it to Harry.

Who stared at it. “I can’t read Latin,” he admitted.

“It’s quite simple,” Draco said. “It states that these rings will bring together those who are meant to be, binding them for their natural lives. And when they die, they will find them again in the next life.”

“You’re kidding.”

One eyebrow raised. “I haven’t eaten in twenty-four hours, I am homeless, and I am apparently now bound to The Boy Who Lived. I assure you, I do not kid,” Draco said slowly. “Why hadn’t you given this to Weasley?”

“Well, I decided to wait for summer to be over, since she was busy—”

“You’ve had these since summer?” Draco’s eyebrow arched again.

“March, actually,” Harry admitted. “But things kept interfering, and it just didn’t seem like the right time to propose.” Or the right idea. “I’d thought to do it tonight, at the Burrows.”

“But you’re here instead.”

“Exactly.” Harry’s smile was tight. “I’m always somewhere else instead. Or she is. Which is why we broke it off while you were in the shower.”

“I’d have thought that would involve a good deal more shouting,” Draco said dryly. “I didn’t even hear a whisper of your argument.”

“By owl,” Harry said, wincing at how awful that did sound. “I’m sure the arguments will come later. If Ron doesn’t kill me first.”

Draco wavered on his feet, and Harry stepped in to catch him, turning him towards the table. “Look, we’ll sort it out later,” he said as he pulled out one of the chairs. “Eat now.”

And they did. Draco inhaled several bowls of soup and half a loaf of bread, not to mention three glasses of wine before he sat back, hands on his abdomen, gaze dark grey and sleepily content. “That was actually good, Harry.”

It had gotten easier as they fell farther into the wine bottle to use their given names, Harry had noticed. It rolled easily off the tongue now, soft and sweet, with Draco lingering over it like it meant something. That thought sent heat coiling in Harry’s gut all over again, and he took a swig of wine hoping that would make it stop. Which it didn’t.

“I’m not a bad cook, and Kreacher handles everything else. He’s upset that I don’t let him cook.”

“Of course he is. He’s a house elf, after all. They live to serve.”

“I like cooking,” Harry pointed out. “It’s a peaceful thing to do.” And he liked having some small measure of control in his life, when everything else seemed to belong to other people. Including himself, now, it seemed. His thumb touched the ring on his finger lightly, still not quite sure what he thought about it.

When he looked back up, Draco was standing in front of him. As he watched, Draco slowly lowered himself to his knees, nudging Harry’s knees apart. Harry gulped. “Draco, I already told you, you don’t need to somehow pay for this. You were starving and cold. I’m—”

“Saving me, I know,” Draco murmured, tugging at the fly of Harry’s trousers. “I’m not paying. I’m curious.”

Harry’s prick bulged against his boxers as they fly opened, and Draco’s slim fingers reached in, tugging him free. “Um. Curious about what?”

“If I’m going to like this as much as I always thought I would.” And with that, Draco swallowed him, taking him in deep enough that Harry’s eyes went wide, his hands falling to grip Draco’s head.

“Fuck—Draco.”

He thought he heard him murmur, “Someday,” but it was hard to tell around the gulping and wet noises of Draco sucking him and letting him almost slip out. Harry slid down in the chair, trying to somehow get closer. Just moments ago they’d been sharing wine, surprisingly pleasant with each other. That morning, he hadn’t even been thinking about Draco. He hadn’t thought about Draco in years, not since the trial, not since they’d watched each other across that room, eyes filled with questions about _why_.

Harry’s head fell back, and he groaned. “Not going to last,” he warned. He felt a hand reach into his boxers, cup his balls while a finger stroked over his arse. He’d never though of anyone touching him there, but now that Draco had, he wanted more of it. Much more, and an orgasm ripped through him at the thought of all the possibilities that were in that touch. He clung to Draco’s head, forcing him down as he fucked his wine-stained lips, pouring himself into Draco’s waiting mouth.

Draco leaned back and looked up at Harry, pale skin flushed, lips rosy and plump. “I was right.”

“About?” Harry was impressed he could manage even that one word as he slid off the chair, reaching for Draco and pulling him closer. He wanted to taste his mouth, see if that was good too. He didn’t know _why_ he wanted it, but he did.

“How good it would be to suck you off,” Draco murmured. Harry thought Draco was looking at his lips. Which meant he might be thinking about kissing too. Which warmed Harry in odd ways all over again.

“Why?” He has to ask it.

Draco snorted. “You have a fondness for that word. It must be the Auror in you, forever investigating. Or the busybody that wanted to know what I was doing all of sixth year, and couldn’t let enough alone. Yes, I was aware, after the fact, that you followed me.”

“I was obsessed,” Harry admitted slowly.

“Not nearly so much as I was after that,” Draco responded with a wry smile. “Do you know what I said when my father threatened to throw me out of the house, if I didn’t propose to Astoria right that moment?” When Harry shook his head, Draco continued with a small smirk. “I told him that I’d rather have Harry Potter’s prick down my throat than even think about putting my own prick anywhere near Astoria Greengrass.”

“Let me guess, that’s when he put you out.”

“Next thing I knew, I was on the lawn,” Draco admitted. “But it was true.”

“You’ve fantasized about me.” Harry didn’t ask it, rather laying out as the fact Draco seemed to be making it. It was hard to imagine. No, scratch that, it was easy to imagine, just like he could imagine—

“Yes.” Draco leaned in, framing Harry’s face in his, lightly brushing his lips against Harry’s. “I didn’t imagine being starving at the time,” he murmured, nipping at Harry’s lower lip until Harry groaned in response. “I didn’t imagine being just a bit drunk on good food and halfway decent wine. And I didn’t imagine that I’d be wearing your rather itchy trackies at the time. But I did imagine it.” He nudged Harry back until they were sprawled on the floor of the kitchen, Draco stretched out over Harry, pushing his shirt up so he could kiss his chest.

“And I did imagine stripping you naked,” Draco continued. “And I imagined fucking you until you screamed my name.” He looked up at Harry, and murmured, “My given name.”

Harry’s fingers threaded through Draco’s hair, and he dragged him back up to try kissing him again, to see if it heated him up just as much as before. “Draco,” he murmured.

“Yes, just like that,” Draco smiled against his mouth. “Only louder.”

Harry grinned, and kissed him again until the world slipped away and he wondered how he could possibly have been missing this all his life.

“Happy Christmas,” Harry finally whispered, as they fell onto his bed, stripping each other, hands sliding over skin and Harry arching into that strangely familiar touch. It was something that had always been missing, something he needed more than anything, and something he could see now that he’d been longing for all along. In the distance, he heard the church bells toll, ringing Christmas to life as his hands clutched at Draco’s arse and he arched up into him, desperate to feel him.

“Happy Christmas,” Draco murmured back, and Harry knew that they had both managed to have their holiday wishes come true.


End file.
